Evan Harrington, complete by George Meredith

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'Show that you have descended among them, dear Van, but are not of them.Our beautiful noble English poet expresses it so. You have come to paythe last mortal duties, which they will respect, if they are not brutes,and attempt no familiarities. Allow none: gently, but firmly. ImitateSilva. You remember, at Dona Risbonda's ball? When he met the Comte deDartigues, and knew he was to be in disgrace with his Court on themorrow? Oh! the exquisite shade of difference in Silva's behaviourtowards the Comte. So finely, delicately perceptible to the Comte, andnot a soul saw it but that wretched Frenchman! He came to me: "Madame,"he said, "is a question permitted?" I replied, "As-many as you please,M. le Comte, but no answers promised." He said: "May I ask if theCourier has yet come in?"--"Nay, M. le Comte," I replied, "this isdiplomacy. Inquire of me, or better, give me an opinion on the new glacesilk from Paris."--"Madame," said he, bowing, "I hope Paris may send meaught so good, or that I shall grace half so well." I smiled, "You shallnot be single in your hopes, M. le Comte. The gift would be base thatyou did not embellish." He lifted his hands, French-fashion: "Madame, itis that I have received the gift."--"Indeed! M. le Comte."--"Even nowfrom the Count de Saldar, your husband." I looked most innocently, "Frommy husband, M. le Comte?"--"From him, Madame. A portrait. An Ambassadorwithout his coat! The portrait was a finished performance." I said:"And may one beg the permission to inspect it?"--"Mais," said he,laughing: "were it you alone, it would be a privilege to me." I had tocheck him. "Believe me, M. le Comte, that when I look upon it, my praiseof the artist will be extinguished by my pity for the subject." Heshould have stopped there; but you cannot have the last word with aFrenchman--not even a woman. Fortunately the Queen just then made herentry into the saloon, and his mot on the charity of our sex was lost.We bowed mutually, and were separated.' (The Countess employed herhandkerchief.) 'Yes, dear Van! that is how you should behave. Implythings. With dearest Mama, of course, you are the dutiful son. Alas!you must stand for son and daughters. Mama has so much sense! She willunderstand how sadly we are placed. But in a week I will come to her fora day, and bring you back.'

So much his sister Louisa. His sister Harriet offered him her house fora home in London, thence to project his new career. His sister Carolinesought a word with him in private, but only to weep bitterly in his arms,and utter a faint moan of regret at marriages in general. He loved thisbeautiful creature the best of his three sisters (partly, it may be,because he despised her superior officer), and tried with a few smotheredwords to induce her to accompany him: but she only shook her fair locksand moaned afresh. Mr. Andrew, in the farewell squeeze of the hand atthe street-door, asked him if he wanted anything. He negatived therequirement of anything whatever, with an air of careless decision,though he was aware that his purse barely contained more than would takehim the distance, but the instincts of this amateur gentleman were veryfine and sensitive on questions of money. His family had never known himbeg for a shilling, or admit his necessity for a penny: nor could he bemade to accept money unless it was thrust into his pocket. Somehow hissisters had forgotten this peculiarity of his. Harriet only rememberedit when too late.

'But I dare say Andrew has supplied him,' she said.

Andrew being interrogated, informed her what had passed between them.

'And you think a Harrington would confess he wanted money!' was herscornful exclamation. 'Evan would walk--he would die rather. It wastreating him like a mendicant.'

Andrew had to shrink in his brewer's skin.

By some fatality all who were doomed to sit and listen to the Countess deSaldar, were sure to be behindhand in an appointment.

When the young man arrived at the coach-office, he was politely informedthat the vehicle, in which a seat had been secured for him, was in closealliance with time and tide, and being under the same rigid laws, couldnot possibly have waited for him, albeit it had stretched a point to theextent of a pair of minutes, at the urgent solicitation of a passenger.

'A gentleman who speaks so, sir,' said a volunteer mimic of the office,crowing and questioning from his throat in Goren's manner. 'Yok! yok!That was how he spoke, sir.'

Evan reddened, for it brought the scene on board the Jocasta vividly tohis mind. The heavier business obliterated it. He took counsel with theclerks of the office, and eventually the volunteer mimic conducted him tocertain livery stables, where Evan, like one accustomed to command,ordered a chariot to pursue the coach, received a touch of the hat for alordly fee, and was soon rolling out of London.

CHAPTER VI

MY GENTLEMAN ON THE ROAD

The postillion had every reason to believe that he carried a realgentleman behind him; in other words, a purse long and liberal. Hejudged by all the points he knew of: a firm voice, a brief commandingstyle, an apparent indifference to expense, and the inexplicable minorcharacteristics, such as polished boots, and a striking wristband, and soforth, which will show a creature accustomed to step over the heads ofmen. He had, therefore, no particular anxiety to part company, andjogged easily on the white highway, beneath a moon that walked high andsmall over marble clouds.

Evan reclined in the chariot, revolving his sensations. In another moodhe would have called, them thoughts, perhaps, and marvelled at theirimmensity. The theme was Love and Death. One might have supposed, fromhis occasional mutterings at the pace regulated by the postillion, thathe was burning with anxiety to catch the flying coach. He had forgottenit: forgotten that he was giving chase to anything. A pair of wonderingfeminine eyes pursued him, and made him fret for the miles to throw athicker veil between him and them. The serious level brows of Rosehaunted the poor youth; and reflecting whither he was tending, and towhat sight, he had shadowy touches of the holiness there is in death,from which came a conflict between the imaged phantoms of his father andof Rose, and he sided against his love with some bitterness. Hissisters, weeping for their father and holding aloof from his ashes,Evan swept from his mind. He called up the man his father was: thekindliness, the readiness, the gallant gaiety of the great Mel. Youthsare fascinated by the barbarian virtues; and to Evan, under presentinfluences, his father was a pattern of manhood. He asked himself:Was it infamous to earn one's bread? and answered it very strongly inhis father's favour. The great Mel's creditors were not by to show himanother feature of the case.

Hitherto, in passive obedience to the indoctrination of the Countess,Evan had looked on tailors as the proscribed race of modern society. Hehad pitied his father as a man superior to his fate; but despite thefitfully honest promptings with Rose (tempting to him because of thewondrous chivalry they argued, and at bottom false probably as thehypocrisy they affected to combat), he had been by no means sorry thatthe world saw not the spot on himself. Other sensations beset him now.Since such a man was banned by the world, which was to be despised?

The clear result of Evan's solitary musing was to cast a sort of haloover Tailordom. Death stood over the pale dead man, his father, anddared the world to sneer at him. By a singular caprice of fancy, Evanhad no sooner grasped this image, than it was suggested that he might aswell inspect his purse, and see how much money he was master of.

Are you impatient with this young man? He has little character for themoment. Most youths are like Pope's women; they have no character atall. And indeed a character that does not wait for circumstances toshape it, is of small worth in the race that must be run. To be set tooearly, is to take the work out of the hands of the Sculptor who fashionsmen. Happily a youth is always at school, and if he was shut up andwithout mark two or three hours ago, he will have something to show younow: as I have seen blooming seaflowers and other graduated organisms,when left undisturbed to their own action. Where the Fates have designedthat he shall present his figure in a story, this is sure to happen.

To the postillion Evan was indebted for one of his first lessons.

About an hour after midnight pastoral stillness and the moon begat in thepostillion desire for a pipe. Daylight prohibits the dream of it tomounted postillions. At night the question is more human, and allowsappeal. The moon smiles assentingly, and smokers know that she reallylends herself to the enjoyment of tobacco.

The postillion could remember gentlemen who did not object: who had evengiven him cigars. Turning round to see if haply the present inmate ofthe chariot might be smoking, he observed a head extended from thewindow.

'How far are we?' was inquired.

The postillion numbered the milestones passed.

'Do you see anything of the coach?'

'Can't say as I do, sir.'

He was commanded to stop. Evan jumped out.

'I don't think I'll take you any farther,' he said.

The postillion laughed to scorn the notion of his caring how far he went.With a pipe in his mouth, he insinuatingly remarked, he could jog on allnight, and throw sleep to the dogs. Fresh horses at Hillford; fresh atFallow field: and the gentleman himself would reach Lymport fresh in themorning.

'No, no; I won't take you any farther,' Evan repeated.

'But what do it matter, sir?' urged the postillion.

'I'd rather go on as I am. I--a--made no arrangement to take you thewhole way.'

So infatuated was the fellow in the belief that he was dealing with aperfect gentleman--an easy pocket!

Now you would not suppose that one who presumes he has sufficient, wouldfind a difficulty in asking how much he has to pay. With an effort,indifferently masked, Evan blurted:

'By the way, tell me--how much--what is the charge for the distance we'vecome?'

There are gentlemen-screws: there are conscientious gentlemen. Theycalculate, and remonstrating or not, they pay. The postillion wouldrather have had to do with the gentleman royal, who is above basecomputation; but he knew the humanity in the class he served, and withhis conception of Evan only partially dimmed, he remarked:

But when my gentleman stood fast, and renewed the demand to know theexact charge for the distance already traversed, the postilliondismounted, glanced him over, and speculated with his fingers tipping uphis hat. Meantime Evan drew out his purse, a long one, certainly, butlimp. Out of this drowned-looking wretch the last spark of life wastaken by the sum the postillion ventured to name; and if paying yourutmost farthing without examination of the charge, and cheerfullystepping out to walk fifty miles, penniless, constituted a postillion'sgentleman, Evan would have passed the test. The sight of poverty,however, provokes familiar feelings in poor men, if you have not hadoccasion to show them you possess particular qualities. The postillion'seye was more on the purse than on the sum it surrendered.

'There,' said Evan, 'I shall walk. Good night.' And he flung his cloakto step forward.

'Stop a bit, sir!' arrested him.

The postillion rallied up sideways, with an assumption of genial respect.'I didn't calc'late myself in that there amount.'

Were these words, think you, of a character to strike a young man hardon the breast, send the blood to his head, and set up in his heart aderisive chorus? My gentleman could pay his money, and keep his footinggallantly; but to be asked for a penny beyond what he possessed; to beseen beggared, and to be claimed a debtor-aleck! Pride was the onedeveloped faculty of Evan's nature. The Fates who mould us, always workfrom the main-spring. I will not say that the postillion stripped offthe mask for him, at that instant completely; but he gave him the firsttrue glimpse of his condition. From the vague sense of being animpostor, Evan awoke to the clear fact that he was likewise a fool.

It was impossible for him to deny the man's claim, and he would not havedone it, if he could. Acceding tacitly, he squeezed the ends of hispurse in his pocket, and with a 'Let me see,' tried his waistcoat. Nottoo impetuously; for he was careful of betraying the horrid emptinesstill he was certain that the powers who wait on gentlemen had utterlyforsaken him. They had not. He discovered a small coin, under ordinarycircumstances not contemptible; but he did not stay to reflect, and wasguilty of the error of offering it to the postillion.

The latter peered at it in the centre of his palm; gazed queerly in thegentleman's face, and then lifting the spit of silver for the disdain ofhis mistress, the moon, he drew a long breath of regret at the originalmistake he had committed, and said:

'That's what you're goin' to give me for my night's work?'

The powers who wait on gentlemen had only helped the pretending youth totry him. A rejection of the demand would have been infinitely wiser andbetter than this paltry compromise. The postillion would have fought it:he would not have despised his fare.

How much it cost the poor pretender to reply, 'It 's the last farthing Ihave, my man,' the postillion could not know.

'A scabby sixpence?' The postillion continued his question.

'You heard what I said,' Evan remarked.

The postillion drew another deep breath, and holding out the coin atarm's length:

'Well, sir !' he observed, as one whom mental conflict has brought to thephilosophy of the case, 'now, was we to change places, I couldn't a' doneit! I couldn't a' done it!' he reiterated, pausing emphatically.

'Take it, sir!' he magnanimously resumed; 'take it! You rides when youcan, and you walks when you must. Lord forbid I should rob such agentleman as you!'

One who feels a death, is for the hour lifted above the satire ofpostillions. A good genius prompted Evan to avoid the silly squabblethat might have ensued and made him ridiculous. He took the money,quietly saying, 'Thank you.'

Not to lose his vantage, the postillion, though a little staggered by themove, rejoined: 'Don't mention it.'

Evan then said: 'Good night, my man. I won't wish, for your sake, thatwe changed places. You would have to walk fifty miles to be in time foryour father's funeral. Good night.'

'You are it to look at!' was the postillion's comment, seeing mygentleman depart with great strides. He did not speak offensively;rather, it seemed, to appease his conscience for the original mistake hehad committed, for subsequently came, 'My oath on it, I don't get took inagain by a squash hat in a hurry !'

Unaware of the ban he had, by a sixpenny stamp, put upon an unoffendingclass, Evan went ahead, hearing the wheels of the chariot still draggingthe road in his rear. The postillion was in a dissatisfied state ofmind. He had asked and received more than his due. But in the matter ofhis sweet self, he had been choused, as he termed it. And my gentlemanhad baffled him, he could not quite tell how; but he had been got thebetter of; his sarcasms had not stuck, and returned to rankle in thebosom of their author. As a Jew, therefore, may eye an erewhile bondsmanwho has paid the bill, but stands out against excess of interest on legalgrounds, the postillion regarded Evan, of whom he was now abreast, eagerfor a controversy.

'Fine night,' said the postillion, to begin, and was answered by a shortassent. 'Lateish for a poor man to be out--don't you think sir, eh?'

'I ought to think so,' said Evan, mastering the shrewd unpleasantness hefelt in the colloquy forced on him.

'Oh, you! you're a gentleman!' the postillion ejaculated.

'You see I have no money.'

'Feel it, too, sir.'

'I am sorry you should be the victim.'

'Victim!' the postillion seized on an objectionable word. 'I ain't novictim, unless you was up to a joke with me, sir, just now. Was that thegame?'

Evan informed him that he never played jokes with money, or on men.

'Cause it looks like it, sir, to go to offer a poor chap sixpence.' Thepostillion laughed hollow from the end of his lungs. 'Sixpence for anight's work! It is a joke, if you don't mean it for one. Why, do youknow, sir, I could go--there, I don't care where it is!--I could go beforeany magistrate livin', and he'd make ye pay. It's a charge, as customis, and he'd make ye pay. Or p'rhaps you're a goin' on my generosity,and 'll say, he gev back that sixpence! Well! I shouldn't a' thought agentleman'd make that his defence before a magistrate. But there, myman! if it makes ye happy, keep it. But you take my advice, sir. Whenyou hires a chariot, see you've got the shiners. And don't you go neveragain offerin' a sixpence to a poor man for a night's work. They don'tlike it. It hurts their feelin's. Don't you forget that, sir. Lay thatup in your mind.'

Now the postillion having thus relieved himself, jeeringly askedpermission to smoke a pipe. To which Evan said, 'Pray, smoke, if itpleases you.' And the postillion, hardly mollified, added, 'The baccy'spaid for,' and smoked.

As will sometimes happen, the feelings of the man who had spoken out andbehaved doubtfully, grew gentle and Christian, whereas those of the manwhose bearing under the trial had been irreproachable were much thereverse. The postillion smoked--he was a lord on his horse; he beheld mygentleman trudging in the dust. Awhile he enjoyed the contrast, dividinghis attention between the footfarer and moon. To have had the last wordis always a great thing; and to have given my gentleman a lecture,because he shunned a dispute, also counts. And then there was the pooryoung fellow trudging to his father's funeral! The postillion chose toremember that now. In reality, he allowed, he had not very much tocomplain of, and my gentleman's courteous avoidance of provocation (theapparent fact that he, the postillion, had humbled him and got the betterof him, equally, it may be), acted on his fine English spirit. I shouldnot like to leave out the tobacco in this good change that was wrought inhim. However, he presently astonished Evan by pulling up his horses, andcrying that he was on his way to Hillford to bait, and saw no reason whyhe should not take a lift that part of the road, at all events. Evanthanked him briefly, but declined, and paced on with his head bent.

'It won't cost you nothing-not a sixpence!' the postillion sang out,pursuing him. 'Come, sir! be a man! I ain't a hintin' at anything--jump in.'

Evan again declined, and looked out for a side path to escape the fellow,whose bounty was worse to him than his abuse, and whose mention of thesixpence was unlucky.

'Dash it!' cried the postillion, 'you're going down to a funeral--I think you said your father's, sir--you may as well try and get thererespectable--as far as I go. It's one to me whether you're in or out;the horses won't feel it, and I do wish you'd take a lift and welcome.It's because you're too much of a gentleman to be beholden to a poor man,I suppose!'

Evan's young pride may have had a little of that base mixture in it, andcertainly he would have preferred that the invitation had not been madeto him; but he was capable of appreciating what the rejection of a pieceof friendliness involved, and as he saw that the man was sincere, he didviolence to himself, and said: 'Very well; then I'll jump in.'

The postillion was off his horse in a twinkling, and trotted his bandylegs to undo the door, as to a gentleman who paid. This act of serviceEvan valued.

'Suppose I were to ask you to take the sixpence now?' he said, turninground, with one foot on the step.

'Well, sir,' the postillion sent his hat aside to answer. 'I don't wantit--I'd rather not have it; but there! I'll take it--dash the sixpence!and we'll cry quits.'

Evan, surprised and pleased with him, dropped the bit of money in hishand, saying: 'It will fill a pipe for you. While you 're smoking it,think of me as in your debt. You're the only man I ever owed a pennyto.'

The postillion put it in a side pocket apart, and observed: 'A sixpencekindly meant is worth any crown-piece that's grudged--that it is! In youjump, sir. It's a jolly night!'

Thus may one, not a conscious sage, play the right tune on this humannature of ours: by forbearance, put it in the wrong; and then, by notrefusing the burden of an obligation, confer something better. Theinstrument is simpler than we are taught to fancy. But it was doubtlessowing to a strong emotion in his soul, as well as to the stuff he wasmade of, that the youth behaved as he did. We are now and then above ourown actions; seldom on a level with them. Evan, I dare say, was long inlearning to draw any gratification from the fact that he had achievedwithout money the unparalleled conquest of a man. Perhaps he never knewwhat immediate influence on his fortune this episode effected.

At Hillford they went their different ways. The postillion wished himgood speed, and Evan shook his hand. He did so rather abruptly, for thepostillion was fumbling at his pocket, and evidently rounding about aproposal in his mind.

My gentleman has now the road to himself. Money is the clothing of agentleman: he may wear it well or ill. Some, you will mark, carry greatquantities of it gracefully: some, with a stinted supply, present adecent appearance: very few, I imagine, will bear inspection, who areabsolutely stripped of it. All, save the shameless, are toiling toescape that trial. My gentleman, treading the white highway across thesolitary heaths, that swell far and wide to the moon, is, by thepostillion, who has seen him, pronounced no sham. Nor do I think theopinion of any man worthless, who has had the postillion's authority forspeaking. But it is, I am told, a finer test to embellish muchgentleman-apparel, than to walk with dignity totally unadorned. Thissimply tries the soundness of our faculties: that tempts them in erraticdirections. It is the difference between active and passive excellence.As there is hardly any situation, however, so interesting to reflect uponas that of a man without a penny in his pocket, and a gizzard full ofpride, we will leave Mr. Evan Harrington to what fresh adventures maybefall him, walking toward the funeral plumes of the firs, under the softmidsummer flush, westward, where his father lies.

CHAPTER VII

MOTHER AND SON

Rare as epic song is the man who is thorough in what he does. Andhappily so; for in life he subjugates us, and he makes us bondsmen to hisashes. It was in the order of things that the great Mel should be borneto his final resting-place by a troop of creditors. You have seen (sincethe occasion demands a pompous simile) clouds that all day cling aboutthe sun, and, in seeking to obscure him, are compelled to blaze in hislivery at fall of night they break from him illumined, hang mournfullyabove him, and wear his natural glories long after he is gone. Thus,then, these worthy fellows, faithful to him to the dust, fulfilled Mel'striumphant passage amongst them, and closed his career.

To regale them when they returned, Mrs. Mel, whose mind was not intent ongreatness, was occupied in spreading meat and wine. Mrs. Fiske assistedher, as well as she could, seeing that one hand was entirely engaged byher handkerchief. She had already stumbled, and dropped a glass, whichhad brought on her sharp condemnation from her aunt, who bade her sitdown, or go upstairs to have her cry out, and then return to beserviceable.

'Oh! I can't help it!' sobbed Mrs. Fiske. 'That he should be carriedaway, and none of his children to see him the last time! I canunderstand Louisa--and Harriet, too, perhaps? But why could notCaroline? And that they should be too fine ladies to let their brothercome and bury his father. Oh! it does seem----'

Mrs. Fiske fell into a chair, and surrendered to grief.

'Where is the cold tongue?' said Mrs. Mel to Sally, the maid, in a briefunder-voice.

'Please mum, Jacko----!'

'He must be whipped. You are a careless slut.'

'Please, I can't think of everybody and everything, and poor master----'

Sally plumped on a seat, and took sanctuary under her apron. Mrs. Melglanced at the pair, continuing her labour.

Mrs. Mel interrupted them by commanding Sally to go to the drawing-room,and ask a lady there, of the name of Mrs. Wishaw, whether she would liketo have some lunch sent up to her. Mrs. Fiske was requested to puttowels in Evan's bedroom.

'Yes, aunt, if you're not infatuated!' said Mrs. Fiske, as she preparedto obey; while Sally, seeing that her public exhibition of sorrow andsympathy could be indulged but an instant longer, unwound herself for aviolent paroxysm, blurting between stops:

'If he'd ony've gone to his last bed comfortable! . . . If he'd ony've been that decent as not for to go to his last bed with his clotheson! . . . If he'd ony've had a comfortable sheet! . . . It makesa woman feel cold to think of him full dressed there, as if he was goin'to be a soldier on the Day o' Judgement!'

To let people speak was a maxim of Mrs. Mel's, and a wise one for anyform of society when emotions are very much on the surface. Shecontinued her arrangements quietly, and, having counted the number ofplates and glasses, and told off the guests on her fingers, she, sat downto await them.

Mrs. Mel examined him with those eyes of hers that compassed objects in asingle glance. She drew her finger on each side of her upper lip, andhalf smiled, saying:

'That won't do here.'

'What?' asked Evan, and proceeded immediately to make inquiries about herhealth, which she satisfied with a nod.

'You saw him lowered, Van?'

'Yes, mother.'

'Then go and wash yourself, for you are dirty, and then come and takeyour place at the head of the table.'

'Must I sit here, mother?'

'Without a doubt--you must. You know your room. Quick!'

In this manner their first interview passed.

Mrs. Fiske rushed in to exclaim:

'So, you were right, aunt--he has come. I met him on the stairs. Oh!how like dear uncle Mel he looks, in the militia, with that moustache.I just remember him as a child; and, oh, what a gentleman he is!'

At the end of the sentence Mrs. Mel's face suddenly darkened: she said,in a deep voice:

'Don't dare to talk that nonsense before him, Ann.'

Mrs. Fiske looked astonished.

'What have I done, aunt?'

'He shan't be ruined by a parcel of fools,' said Mrs. Mel. 'There, go!Women have no place here.'

'How the wretches can force themselves to touch a morsel, after thismorning!' Mrs. Fiske exclaimed, glancing at the table.

'Men must eat,' said Mrs. Mel.

The mourners were heard gathering outside the door. Mrs. Fiske escapedinto the kitchen. Mrs. Mel admitted them into the parlour, bowing muchabove the level of many of the heads that passed her.

'My son will be with you directly, to preside,' said Mrs. Mel. 'Acceptmy thanks for the respect you have shown my husband. I wish you goodmorning.'

'Morning, ma'am,' answered several voices, and Mrs. Mel retired.

The mourners then set to work to relieve their hats of the appendages ofcrape. An undertaker's man took possession of the long black cloaks.The gloves were generally pocketed.

'That's my second black pair this year,' said Joyce.

'They'll last a time to come. I don't need to buy gloves whileneighbours pop off.'

'Undertakers' gloves seem to me as if they're made for mutton fists,'remarked Welbeck; upon which Kilne nudged Barnes, the butcher, with asharp 'Aha!' and Barnes observed:

'Oh! I never wear 'em--they does for my boys on Sundays. I smoke a pipeat home.'

The Fallow field farmer held his length of crape aloft and inquired:'What shall do with this?'

'Oh, you keep it,' said one or two.

Coxwell rubbed his chin. 'Don't like to rob the widder.'

'What's left goes to the undertaker?' asked Grossby.

'To be sure,' said Barnes; and Kilne added: 'It's a job': Lawyer Perkinsejaculating confidently, 'Perquisites of office, gentlemen; perquisitesof office!' which settled the dispute and appeased every conscience.

A survey of the table ensued. The mourners felt hunger, or else thirst;but had not, it appeared, amalgamated the two appetites as yet. Thirstwas the predominant declaration; and Grossby, after an examination of thedecanters, unctuously deduced the fact, which he announced, that port andsherry were present.

'Try the port,' said Kilne.

'Good?' Barnes inquired.

A very intelligent 'I ought to know,' with a reserve of regret at theextension of his intimacy with the particular vintage under that roof,was winked by Kilne.

Lawyer Perkins touched the arm of a mourner about to be experimental onKilne's port

'I think we had better wait till young Mr. Harrington takes the table,don't you see?'

'Yes,-ah!' croaked Goren. 'The head of the family, as the saying goes!'

'No. You can't expect it. Mr. Harrington has led me to anticipate thathe will appoint a day. Don't you see?'

'Oh! I see,' returned Joyce. 'I ain't in such a hurry. What's hedoing?'

Doubleday, whose propensities were waggish, suggested 'shaving,' but halfashamed of it, since the joke missed, fell to as if he were soaping hisface, and had some trouble to contract his jaw.

The delay in Evan's attendance on the guests of the house was caused bythe fact that Mrs. Mel had lain in wait for him descending, to warn himthat he must treat them with no supercilious civility, and to tell himpartly the reason why. On hearing the potential relations in which theystood toward the estate of his father, Evan hastily and with theassurance of a son of fortune, said they should be paid.

'That's what they would like to hear,' said Mrs. Mel. 'You may justmention it when they're going to leave. Say you will fix a day to meetthem.'

'But it shall be paid, mother,--it shall be paid. Debts? I hate them.I'd slave night and day to pay them.'

Mrs. Mel spoke in a more positive tense: 'And so will I, Van. Now, go.'

It mattered little to her what sort of effect on his demeanour herrevelation produced, so long as the resolve she sought to bring him towas nailed in his mind; and she was a woman to knock and knock again,till it was firmly fixed there. With a strong purpose, and no plans,there were few who could resist what, in her circle, she willed; not evena youth who would gaily have marched to the scaffold rather than standbehind a counter. A purpose wedded to plans may easily suffer shipwreck;but an unfettered purpose that moulds circumstances as they arise,masters us, and is terrible. Character melts to it, like metal in thesteady furnace. The projector of plots is but a miserable gambler andvotary of chances. Of a far higher quality is the will that can subdueitself to wait, and lay no petty traps for opportunity. Poets may fableof such a will, that it makes the very heavens conform to it; or, I mayadd, what is almost equal thereto, one who would be a gentleman, toconsent to be a tailor. The only person who ever held in his courseagainst Mrs. Mel, was Mel,--her husband; but, with him, she was under thephysical fascination of her youth, and it never left her. In her heartshe barely blamed him. What he did, she took among other inevitablematters.

The door closed upon Evan, and waiting at the foot, of the stairs aminute to hear how he was received, Mrs. Mel went to the kitchen andcalled the name of Dandy, which brought out an ill-built, low-browed,small man, in a baggy suit of black, who hopped up to her with a surlysalute. Dandy was a bird Mrs. Mel had herself brought down, and she hadfor him something of a sportsman's regard for his victim. Dandy was thecleaner of boots and runner of errands in the household of Melchisedec,having originally entered it on a dark night by the cellar. Mrs. Mel,on that occasion, was sleeping in her dressing-gown, to be ready to givethe gallant night-hawk, her husband, the service he might require on hisreturn to the nest. Hearing a suspicious noise below, she rose, anddeliberately loaded a pair of horse-pistols, weapons Mel had worn in hisholsters in the heroic days gone; and with these she stepped downstairsstraight to the cellar, carrying a lantern at her girdle. She could notonly load, but present and fire. Dandy was foremost in stating that shecalled him forth steadily, three times, before the pistol was discharged.He admitted that he was frightened, and incapable of speech, at theapparition of the tall, terrific woman. After the third time of askinghe had the ball lodged in his leg and fell. Mrs. Mel was in the habit ofbearing heavier weights than Dandy. She made no ado about lugging him toa chamber, where, with her own hands (for this woman had some slightknowledge of surgery, and was great in herbs and drugs) she dressed hiswound, and put him to bed; crying contempt (ever present in Dandy'smemory) at such a poor creature undertaking the work of housebreaker.Taught that he really was a poor creature for the work, Dandy, hisnursing over, begged to be allowed to stop and wait on Mrs. Mel; and shewho had, like many strong natures, a share of pity for the objects shedespised, did not cast him out. A jerk in his gait, owing to the bit oflead Mrs. Mel had dropped into him, and a little, perhaps, to her self-satisfied essay in surgical science on his person, earned him the name hewent by.

When her neighbours remonstrated with her for housing a reprobate, Mrs.Mel would say: 'Dandy is well-fed and well-physicked: there's no harm inDandy'; by which she may have meant that the food won his gratitude, andthe physic reduced his humours. She had observed human nature. At anyrate, Dandy was her creature; and the great Mel himself rallied her abouther squire.

'When were you drunk last?, was Mrs. Mel's address to Dandy, as he stoodwaiting for orders.

He replied to it in an altogether injured way:

'There, now; you've been and called me away from my dinner to ask methat. Why, when I had the last chance, to be sure.'

Mrs. Mel neither enjoined nor cared for outward forms of respect, whereshe was sure of complete subserviency. If Dandy went beyond the limits,she gave him an extra dose. Up to the limits he might talk as hepleased, in accordance with Mrs. Mel's maxim, that it was a necessaryrelief to all talking creatures.

'Now, take off your apron,' she said, 'and wash your hands, dirty pig,and go and wait at table in there'; she pointed to the parlour-door:'Come straight to me when everybody has left.'

'Well, there I am with the bottles again,' returned Dandy. 'It 's yourfault this time, mind! I'll come as straight as I can.'

Dandy turned away to perform her bidding, and Mrs. Mel ascended to thedrawing-room to sit with Mrs. Wishaw, who was, as she told all who choseto hear, an old flame of Mel's, and was besides, what Mrs. Mel thoughtmore of, the wife of Mel's principal creditor, a wholesale dealer incloth, resident in London.

The conviviality of the mourners did not disturb the house. Still, menwho are not accustomed to see the colour of wine every day, will sit andenjoy it, even upon solemn occasions, and the longer they sit the morethey forget the matter that has brought them together. Pleading theirwives and shops, however, they released Evan from his miserable officelate in the afternoon.

His mother came down to him,--and saying, 'I see how you did the journey--you walked it,' told him to follow her.

'Yes, mother,' Evan yawned, 'I walked part of the way. I met a fellow ina gig about ten miles out of Fallow field, and he gave me a lift toFlatsham. I just reached Lymport in time, thank Heaven! I wouldn't havemissed that! By the way, I've satisfied these men.'

'Oh!' said Mrs. Mel.

'They wanted--one or two of them--what a penance it is to have to sitamong those people an hour!--they wanted to ask me about the business,but I silenced them. I told them to meet me here this day week.'

Mrs. Mel again said 'Oh!' and, pushing into one of the upper rooms,'Here's your bedroom, Van, just as you left it.'

'Ah, so it is,' muttered Evan, eyeing a print. 'The Douglas and thePercy: "he took the dead man by the hand." What an age it seems since Ilast saw that. There's Sir Hugh Montgomery on horseback--he hasn'tmoved. Don't you remember my father calling it the Battle of Tit-for-Tat? Gallant Percy! I know he wished he had lived in those days ofknights and battles.'

'It does not much signify whom one has to make clothes for,' observedMrs. Mel. Her son happily did not mark her.

'I think we neither of us were made for the days of pence and pounds,' hecontinued. 'Now, mother, sit down, and talk to me about him. Did hemention me? Did he give me his blessing? I hope he did not suffer.I'd have given anything to press his hand,' and looking wistfully at thePercy lifting the hand of Douglas dead, Evan's eyes filled with bigtears.

'He suffered very little,' returned Mrs. Mel, 'and his last words wereabout you.'

'What were they?' Evan burst out.

'I will tell you another time. Now undress, and go to bed. When I talkto you, Van, I want a cool head to listen. You do nothing but yawn yard-measures.'

The mouth of the weary youth instinctively snapped short the abhorredemblem.

'Here, I will help you, Van.'

In spite of his remonstrances and petitions for talk, she took off hiscoat and waistcoat, contemptuously criticizing the cloth of foreigntailors and their absurd cut.

She still treated him like a boy, whom she was going to force to theresolution of a man.

Dandy's sleeping-room was on the same floor as Evan's. Thither, when shehad quitted her son, she directed her steps. She had heard Dandy tumbleup-stairs the moment his duties were over, and knew what to expect whenthe bottles had been in his way; for drink made Dandy savage, and aterror to himself. It was her command to him that, when he happened tocome across liquor, he should immediately seek his bedroom and bolt thedoor, and Dandy had got the habit of obeying her. On this occasion hewas vindictive against her, seeing that she had delivered him over to hisenemy with malice prepense. A good deal of knocking, and summoning ofDandy by name, was required before she was admitted, and the sight of herdid not delight him, as he testified.

'I 'm drunk!' he bawled. 'Will that do for ye?'

Mrs. Mel stood with her two hands crossed above her apron-string, notinghis sullen lurking eye with the calm of a tamer of beasts.

'You go out of the room; I'm drunk!' Dandy repeated, and pitched forwardon the bed-post, in the middle of an oath.

She understood that it was pure kindness on Dandy's part to bid her goand be out of his reach; and therefore, on his becoming so abusive as tobe menacing, she, without a shade of anger, and in the most unruffledmanner, administered to him the remedy she had reserved, in the shape ofa smart box on the ear, which sent him flat to the floor. He rose, aftertwo or three efforts, quite subdued.

'Now, Dandy, sit on the edge of the bed.'

Dandy sat on the extreme edge, and Mrs. Mel pursued:

'Now, Dandy, tell me what your master said at the table.'

'Talked at 'em like a lord, he did,' said Dandy, stupidly consoling theboxed ear.

'What were his words?'

Dandy's peculiarity was, that he never remembered anything save whendrunk, and Mrs. Mel's dose had rather sobered him. By degrees,scratching at his head haltingly, he gave the context.

"'Gentlemen, I hear for the first time, you've claims against my poorfather. Nobody shall ever say he died, and any man was the worse for it.I'll meet you next week, and I'll bind myself by law. Here's LawyerPerkins. No; Mr. Perkins. I'll pay off every penny. Gentlemen, lookupon me as your debtor, and not my father."'

Delivering this with tolerable steadiness, Dandy asked, 'Will that do?'

'That will do,' said Mrs. Mel. 'I'll send you up some tea presently.Lie down, Dandy.'

The house was dark and silent when Evan, refreshed by his rest, descendedto seek his mother. She was sitting alone in the parlour. With atenderness which Mrs. Mel permitted rather than encouraged, Evan put hisarm round her neck, and kissed her many times. One of the symptoms ofheavy sorrow, a longing for the signs of love, made Evan fondle hismother, and bend over her yearningly. Mrs. Mel said once: 'Dear Van;good boy!' and quietly sat through his caresses.

'Sitting up for me, mother?' he whispered.

'Yes, Van; we may as well have our talk out.'

'Ah!' he took a chair close by her side, 'tell me my father's lastwords.'

'He said he hoped you would never be a tailor.'

Evan's forehead wrinkled up. 'There's not much fear of that, then!'

His mother turned her face on him, and examined him with a rigorousplacidity; all her features seeming to bear down on him. Evan did notlike the look.

'You object to trade, Van?'

'Yes, decidedly, mother-hate it; but that's not what I want to talk toyou about. Didn't my father speak of me much?'

'He desired that you should wear his militia sword, if you got acommission.'

'I have rather given up hope of the Army,' said Evan.

Mrs. Mel requested him to tell her what a colonel's full pay amounted to;and again, the number of years it required, on a rough calculation, toattain that grade. In reply to his statement she observed: 'A tailormight realize twice the sum in a quarter of the time.'

'What if he does-double, or treble?' cried Evan, impetuously; and toavoid the theme, and cast off the bad impression it produced on him, herubbed his hands, and said: 'I want to talk to you about my prospects,mother.'

'What are they?' Mrs. Mel inquired.

The severity of her mien and sceptical coldness of her speech caused himto inspect them suddenly, as if she had lent him her eyes. He put themby, till the gold should recover its natural shine, saying: 'By the way,mother, I 've written the half of a History of Portugal.'

'Have you?' said Mrs. Mel. 'For Louisa?'

'No, mother, of course not: to sell it. Albuquerque! what a splendidfellow he was!'

Informing him that he knew she abominated foreign names, she said: 'Andyour prospects are, writing Histories of Portugal?'

'No, mother. I was going to tell you, I expect a Government appointment.Mr. Jocelyn likes my work--I think he likes me. You know, I was hisprivate secretary for ten months.'

'You write a good hand,' his mother interposed.

'And I'm certain I was born for diplomacy.'

'For an easy chair, and an ink-dish before you, and lacqueys behind.What's to be your income, Van?'

Evan carelessly remarked that he must wait and see.

'A very proper thing to do,' said Mrs. Mel; for now that she had fixedhim to some explanation of his prospects, she could condescend in herstiff way to banter.

Slightly touched by it, Evan pursued, half laughing, as men do who wishto propitiate common sense on behalf of what seems tolerably absurd:'It 's not the immediate income, you know, mother: one thinks of one'sfuture. In the diplomatic service, as Louisa says, you come to be knownto Ministers gradually, I mean. That is, they hear of you; and if youshow you have some capacity--Louisa wants me to throw it up in time,and stand for Parliament. Andrew, she thinks, would be glad to help meto his seat. Once in Parliament, and known to Ministers, you--yourcareer is open to you.'

In justice to Mr. Evan Harrington, it must be said, he built up thisextraordinary card-castle to dazzle his mother's mind: he had lost hisright grasp of her character for the moment, because of an undefinedsuspicion of something she intended, and which sent him himself to takerefuge in those flimsy structures; while the very altitude he reachedbeguiled his imagination, and made him hope to impress hers.

Mrs. Mel dealt it one fillip. 'And in the meantime how are you to live,and pay the creditors?'

Though Evan answered cheerfully, 'Oh, they will wait, and I can live onanything,' he was nevertheless floundering on the ground amid the ruinsof the superb edifice; and his mother, upright and rigid, continuing,'You can live on anything, and they will wait, and call your father arogue,' he started, grievously bitten by one of the serpents of earth.

'Good heaven, mother! what are you saying?'

'That they will call your father a rogue, and will have a right to,' saidthe relentless woman.

'Not while I live!' Evan exclaimed.

'You may stop one mouth with your fist, but you won't stop a dozen, Van.'

Evan jumped up and walked the room.

'What am I to do?' he cried. 'I will pay everything. I will bind myselfto pay every farthing. What more can I possibly do?'

'Make the money,' said Mrs. Mel's deep voice.

Evan faced her: 'My dear mother, you are very unjust and inconsiderate.I have been working and doing my best. I promise---- what do the debtsamount to?'

'Something like L5000 in all, Van.'

'Very well.' Youth is not alarmed by the sound of big sums. 'Very well--I will pay it.'

Evan looked as proud as if he had just clapped down the full amount onthe table.

'Out of the History of Portugal, half written, and the prospect of aGovernment appointment?'

Mrs. Mel raised her eyelids to him.

'In time-in time, mother!'

'Mention your proposal to the creditors when you meet them this dayweek,' she said.

Neither of them spoke for several minutes. Then Evan came close to her,saying:

'What is it you want of me, mother?'

'I want nothing, Van--I can support myself.'

'But what would you have me do, mother?'

'Be honest; do your duty, and don't be a fool about it.'

'I will try,' he rejoined. 'You tell me to make the money. Where andhow can I make it? I am perfectly willing to work.'

'In this house,' said Mrs. Mel; and, as this was pretty clear speaking,she stood up to lend her figure to it.

'Here?' faltered Evan. 'What! be a ----'

'Tailor!' The word did not sting her tongue.

'I? Oh, that's quite impossible!' said Evan. And visions of leprosy,and Rose shrinking her skirts from contact with him, shadowed out andaway in his mind.

'Understand your choice!' Mrs. Mel imperiously spoke. 'What are brainsgiven you for? To be played the fool with by idiots and women? You haveL5000 to pay to save your father from being called a rogue. You can onlymake the money in one way, which is open to you. This business mightproduce a thousand pounds a-year and more. In seven or eight years youmay clear your father's name, and live better all the time than many ofyour bankrupt gentlemen. You have told the creditors you will pay them.Do you think they're gaping fools, to be satisfied by a History ofPortugal? If you refuse to take the business at once, they will sell meup, and quite right too. Understand your choice. There's Mr. Goren haspromised to have you in London a couple of months, and teach you what hecan. He is a kind friend. Would any of your gentlemen acquaintance dothe like for you? Understand your choice. You will be a beggar--the sonof a rogue--or an honest man who has cleared his father's name!'

During this strenuously uttered allocution, Mrs. Mel, though her chestheaved but faintly against her crossed hands, showed by the dilatation ofher eyes, and the light in them, that she felt her words. There is thatin the aspect of a fine frame breathing hard facts, which, to a youth whohas been tumbled headlong from his card-castles and airy fabrics, ismasterful, and like the pressure of a Fate. Evan drooped his head.

She looked at him to see whether the string she held him by would bearthe slight additional strain: decided not to press a small point.

'Then go to bed and sleep on it,' she said--sure of him--and gave hercheek for his kiss, for she never performed the operation, but kept hermouth, as she remarked, for food and speech, and not for slobberingmummeries.

Evan returned to his solitary room. He sat on the bed and tried tothink, oppressed by horrible sensations of self-contempt, that causedwhatever he touched to sicken him.

There were the Douglas and the Percy on the wall. It was a happy and aglorious time, was it not, when men lent each other blows that killedoutright; when to be brave and cherish noble feelings brought honour;when strength of arm and steadiness of heart won fortune; when the fairstars of earth--sweet women--wakened and warmed the love of squires oflow degree. This legacy of the dead man's hand! Evan would have paid itwith his blood; but to be in bondage all his days to it; through it tolose all that was dear to him; to wear the length of a loathedexistence!--we should pardon a young man's wretchedness at the prospect,for it was in a time before our joyful era of universal equality. Yet henever cast a shade of blame upon his father.

The hours moved on, and he found himself staring at his small candle,which struggled more and more faintly with the morning light, like hisown flickering ambition against the facts of life.

ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

A man who rejected medicine in extremityA share of pity for the objects she despisedA sixpence kindly meant is worth any crown-piece that's grudgedA youth who is engaged in the occupation of eating his heartAccustomed to be paid for by his countryBritish hunger for news; second only to that for beefBrotherhood among the select who wear masks instead of facesBy forbearance, put it in the wrongCheerful martyrCommon voice of praise in the mouths of his creditorsEmbarrassments of an uncongenial employmentEmpty stomachs are foul counsellorsEqually acceptable salted when it cannot be had freshFar higher quality is the will that can subdue itself to waitFew feelings are single on this globeGentlefolks like straight-forwardness in their inferiorsHe squandered the guineas, she patiently picked up the penceHis wife alone, had, as they termed it, kept him togetherI'll come as straight as I canInformed him that he never played jokes with money, or on menIt was in a time before our joyful era of universal equalityIt's no use trying to be a gentleman if you can't pay for itLay no petty traps for opportunityLooked as proud as if he had just clapped down the full amountMan without a penny in his pocket, and a gizzard full of prideMen they regard as their natural preyMost youths are like Pope's women; they have no characterOccasional instalments--just to freshen the accountOh! I can't bear that class of peoplePartake of a morning draughtPatronizing womanPropitiate common sense on behalf of what seems tolerably absurdRare as epic song is the man who is thorough in what he doesRequiring natural services from her in the button departmentSaid she was what she would have given her hand not to beShe was at liberty to weep if she pleasedShe, not disinclined to dilute her griefSpeech that has to be hauled from the depths usually betraysSuch a man was banned by the world, which was to be despised?Tenderness which Mrs. Mel permitted rather than encouragedTo be both generally blamed, and generally likedTo let people speak was a maxim of Mrs. Mel's, and a wise oneToyed with little flowers of palest memoryTradesman, and he never was known to have sent in a billTrue enjoyment of the princely dispositionWhat he did, she took among other inevitable mattersWhose bounty was worse to him than his abuseWith a proud humilityYou rides when you can, and you walks when you mustYouth is not alarmed by the sound of big sums

EVAN HARRINGTON

BY GEORGE MEREDITH

BOOK 2.

VIII. INTRODUCES AN ECCENTRICIX. THE COUNTESS IN LOW SOCIETYX. MY GENTLEMAN ON THE ROAD AGAINXI. DOINGS AT AN INNXII. IN WHICH ALE IS SHOWN TO HAVE ONE QUALITY OF WINEXIII. THE MATCH OF FALLOW FIELD AGAINST BECKLEY

CHAPTER VIII

INTRODUCES AN ECCENTRIC

At the Aurora--one of those rare antiquated taverns, smelling ofcomfortable time and solid English fare, that had sprung up in the greatcoffee days, when taverns were clubs, and had since subsisted on theattachment of steady bachelor Templars there had been dismay, and evensorrow, for a month. The most constant patron of the establishment--anold gentleman who had dined there for seven-and-twenty years, four daysin the week, off dishes dedicated to the particular days, and had growngrey with the landlady, the cook, and the head-waiter--this old gentlemanhad abruptly withheld his presence. Though his name, his residence, hisoccupation, were things only to be speculated on at the Aurora, he wasvery well known there, and as men are best to be known: that is to say,by their habits. Some affection for him also was felt. The landladylooked on him as a part of the house. The cook and the waiter wereaccustomed to receive acceptable compliments from him monthly. Hisprecise words, his regular ancient jokes, his pint of Madeira and after-pint of Port, his antique bow to the landlady, passing out and in, hismethod of spreading his table-napkin on his lap and looking up at theceiling ere he fell to, and how he talked to himself during the repast,and indulged in short chuckles, and the one look of perfect felicity thatplayed over his features when he had taken his first sip of Port--thesewere matters it pained them at the Aurora to have to remember.

For three weeks the resolution not to regard him as of the past wasgeneral. The Aurora was the old gentleman's home. Men do not playtruant from home at sixty years of age. He must, therefore, be seriouslyindisposed. The kind heart of the landlady fretted to think he mighthave no soul to nurse and care for him; but she kept his corner near thefire-place vacant, and took care that his pint of Madeira was there. Thebelief was gaining ground that he had gone, and that nothing but hisghost would ever sit there again. Still the melancholy ceremonycontinued: for the landlady was not without a secret hope, that in spiteof his reserve and the mystery surrounding him, he would have sent her alast word. The cook and head-waiter, interrogated as to their dealingswith the old gentleman, testified solemnly to the fact of their havingperformed their duty by him. They would not go against their interestsso much as to forget one of his ways, they said-taking oath, as it were,by their lower nature, in order to be credited: an instinct men have ofone another. The landlady could not contradict them, for the oldgentleman had made no complaint; but then she called to memory thatfifteen years back, in such and such a year, Wednesday's, dish had been,by shameful oversight, furnished him for Tuesday's, and he had eaten itquietly, but refused his Port; which pathetic event had caused alarm andinquiry, when the error was discovered, and apologized for, the oldgentleman merely saying, 'Don't let it happen again.' Next day he drankhis Port, as usual, and the wheels of the Aurora went smoothly. Thelandlady was thus justified in averring that something had been done bysomebody, albeit unable to point to anything specific. Women, who arealmost as deeply bound to habit as old gentlemen, possess more of itsspiritual element, and are warned by dreams, omens, creepings of theflesh, unwonted chills, suicide of china, and other shadowing signs, whena break is to be anticipated, or, has occurred. The landlady of theAurora tavern was visited by none of these, and with that beautiful trustwhich habit gives, and which boastful love or vainer earthly qualitieswould fail in effecting, she ordered that the pint of Madeira shouldstand from six o'clock in the evening till seven--a small monument ofconfidence in him who was at one instant the 'poor old dear'; at another,the 'naughty old gad-about'; further, the 'faithless old-good-for-nothing'; and again, the 'blessed pet' of the landlady's parlour,alternately and indiscriminately apostrophized by herself, her sister,and daughter.

On the last day of the month a step was heard coming up the long alleywhich led from the riotous scrambling street to the plentiful cheerfulheart of the Aurora. The landlady knew the step. She checked thenatural flutterings of her ribbons, toned down the strong simper that wason her lips, rose, pushed aside her daughter, and, as the stepapproached, curtsied composedly. Old Habit lifted his hat, and passed.With the same touching confidence in the Aurora that the Aurora had inhim, he went straight to his corner, expressed no surprise at his welcomeby the Madeira, and thereby apparently indicated that his appearanceshould enjoy a similar immunity.

As of old, he called 'Jonathan!' and was not to be disturbed till he didso. Seeing that Jonathan smirked and twiddled his napkin, the oldgentleman added, 'Thursday!'

But Jonathan, a man, had not his mistress's keen intuition of thedeportment necessitated by the case, or was incapable of putting thescrew upon weak excited nature, for he continued to smirk, and wasremarking how glad he was, he was sure, and something he had dared tothink and almost to fear, when the old gentleman called to him, as if hewere at the other end of the room, 'Will you order Thursday, or not,sir?' Whereat Jonathan flew, and two or three cosy diners glanced upfrom their plates, or the paper, smiled, and pursued their capitaloccupation.

'Glad to see me!' the old gentleman muttered, querulously. 'Of course,glad to see a customer! Why do you tell me that? Talk! tattle! mightas well have a woman to wait--just!'

He wiped his forehead largely with his handkerchief; as one whom Calamityhunted a little too hard in summer weather.

'No tumbling-room for the wine, too!'

That was his next grievance. He changed the pint of Madeira from hisleft side to his right, and went under his handkerchief again,feverishly. The world was severe with this old gentleman.

'Ah! clock wrong now!'

He leaned back like a man who can no longer carry his burdens, informingJonathan, on his coming up to place the roll of bread and firm butter,that he was forty seconds too fast, as if it were a capital offence, andhe deserved to step into Eternity for outstripping Time.

'But, I daresay, you don't understand the importance of a minute,' saidthe old gentleman, bitterly. 'Not you, or any of you. Better if we hadrun a little ahead of your minute, perhaps--and the rest of you! Do youthink you can cancel the mischief that's done in the world in thatminute, sir, by hurrying ahead like that? Tell me !'

Rather at a loss, Jonathan scanned the clock seriously, and observed thatit was not quite a minute too fast.

The old gentleman pulled out his watch. He grunted that a lying clockwas hateful to him; subsequently sinking into contemplation of histhumbs,--a sign known to Jonathan as indicative of the old gentleman'ssystem having resolved, in spite of external outrages, to be fortifiedwith calm to meet the repast.

It is not fair to go behind an eccentric; but the fact was, this oldgentleman was slightly ashamed of his month's vagrancy and cruel conduct,and cloaked his behaviour toward the Aurora, in all the charges he couldmuster against it. He was very human, albeit an odd form of the race.

Happily for his digestion of Thursday, the cook, warned by Jonathan, keptthe old gentleman's time, not the Aurora's: and the dinner was correct;the dinner was eaten in peace; he began to address his plate vigorously,poured out his Madeira, and chuckled, as the familiar ideas engendered bygood wine were revived in him. Jonathan reported at the bar that the oldgentleman was all right again.

One would like here to pause, while our worthy ancient feeds, and indulgein a short essay on Habit, to show what a sacred and admirable thing itis that makes flimsy Time substantial, and consolidates his triple life.It is proof that we have come to the end of dreams and Time's delusions,and are determined to sit down at Life's feast and carve for ourselves.Its day is the child of yesterday, and has a claim on to-morrow. Whereasthose who have no such plan of existence and sum of their wisdom to show,the winds blow them as they list. Consider, then, mercifully the wrathof him on whom carelessness or forgetfulness has brought a snap in thelinks of Habit. You incline to scorn him because, his slippersmisplaced, or asparagus not on his table the first day of a particularSpring month, he gazes blankly and sighs as one who saw the End. To youit may appear small. You call to him to be a man. He is: but he is alsoan immortal, and his confidence in unceasing orderly progression isrudely dashed.

But the old gentleman has finished his dinner and his Madeira, and says:'Now, Jonathan, "thock" the Port!'--his joke when matters have gone well:meant to express the sound of the uncorking, probably. The habit ofmaking good jokes is rare, as you know: old gentlemen have not yetattained to it: nevertheless Jonathan enjoys this one, which has seen ageneration in and out, for he knows its purport to be, 'My heart isopen.'

And now is a great time with this old gentleman. He sips, and in hiseyes the world grows rosy, and he exchanges mute or monosyllable saluteshere and there. His habit is to avoid converse; but he will let a lightremark season meditation.

He says to Jonathan: 'The bill for the month.'

'Yes, sir,' Jonathan replies. 'Would you not prefer, sir, to have theitems added on to the month ensuing?'

'I asked you for the bill of the month,' said the old gentleman, with anirritated voice and a twinkle in his eye.

Jonathan bowed; but his aspect betrayed perplexity, and that perplexitywas soon shared by the landlady for Jonathan said, he was convinced theold gentleman intended to pay for sixteen days, and the landlady couldnot bring her hand to charge him for more than two. Here was the dilemmaforeseen by the old gentleman, and it added vastly to the flavour of thePort.

Pleasantly tickled, he sat gazing at his glass, and let the minutes fly.He knew the part he would act in his little farce. If charged for thewhole month, he would peruse the bill deliberately, and perhaps cry out'Hulloa?' and then snap at Jonathan for the interposition of a remark.But if charged for two days, he would wish to be told whether they weredemented, those people outside, and scornfully return the bill toJonathan.

A slap on the shoulder, and a voice: 'Found you at last, Tom!' violentlyshattered the excellent plot, and made the old gentleman start. Hebeheld Mr. Andrew Cogglesby.

'Drinking Port, Tom?' said Mr. Andrew. 'I 'll join you': and he sat downopposite to him, rubbing his hands and pushing back his hair.

Jonathan entering briskly with the bill, fell back a step, in alarm. Theold gentleman, whose inviolacy was thus rudely assailed, sat staring atthe intruder, his mouth compressed, and three fingers round his glass,which it' was doubtful whether he was not going to hurl at him.

'Do you hear, sir?' cried the latter, turning his wrath on him. 'Anotherpint!' He added: 'Take back the bill'; and away went Jonathan to relatefresh marvels to his mistress.

Mr. Andrew then addressed the old gentleman in the most audacious manner.

'Astonished to see me here, Tom? Dare say you are. I knew you camesomewhere in this neighbourhood, and, as I wanted to speak to you veryparticularly, and you wouldn't be visible till Monday, why, I spied intotwo or three places, and here I am.'

You might see they were brothers. They had the same bushy eyebrows, thesame healthy colour in their cheeks, the same thick shoulders, and briskway of speaking, and clear, sharp, though kindly, eyes; only Tom was castin larger proportions than Andrew, and had gotten the grey furniture ofTime for his natural wear. Perhaps, too, a cross in early life had alittle twisted him, and set his mouth in a rueful bunch, out of whichoccasionally came biting things. Mr. Andrew carried his head up, andeyed every man living with the benevolence of a patriarch, dashed withthe impudence of a London sparrow. Tom had a nagging air, and a trifleof acridity on his broad features. Still, any one at a glance could havesworn they were brothers, and Jonathan unhesitatingly proclaimed it atthe Aurora bar.

Mr. Andrew's hands were working together, and at them, and at his face,the old gentleman continued to look with a firmly interrogating air.

'What the deuce are you taking exercise for?' the old gentleman burstout, and having unlocked his mouth, he began to puff and alter hisposture.

'There you are, thawed in a minute!' said Mr. Andrew. 'What's aneccentric? a child grown grey. It isn't mine; I read it somewhere.Ah, here's the Port! good, I'll warrant.'

Jonathan deferentially uncorked, excessive composure on his visage. Hearranged the table-cloth to a nicety, fixed the bottle with exactness,and was only sent scudding by the old gentleman's muttering of:'Eavesdropping pie!' followed by a short, 'Go!' and even then he mustdelay to sweep off a particular crumb.

'Good it is!' said Mr. Andrew, rolling the flavour on his lips, as he putdown his glass. 'I follow you in Port, Tom. Elder brother !'

The old gentleman also drank, and was mollified enough to reply: 'Shan'tfollow you in Parliament.'

'Haven't forgiven that yet, Tom?'

'No great harm done when you're silent.'

'Capital Port!' said Mr. Andrew, replenishing the glasses. 'I ought tohave inquired where they kept the best Port. I might have known you'dstick by it. By the way, talking of Parliament, there's talk of a newelection for Fallow field. You have a vote there. Will you give it toJocelyn? There's talk of his standing.

'If he'll wear petticoats, I'll give him my vote.'

'There you go, Tom!'

'I hate masquerades. You're penny trumpets of the women. That tattlecomes from the bed-curtains. When a petticoat steps forward I give it myvote, or else I button it up in my pocket.'

This was probably one of the longest speeches he had ever delivered atthe Aurora. There was extra Port in it. Jonathan, who from his place ofobservation noted the length of time it occupied, though he was unable togather the context, glanced at Mr. Andrew with a sly satisfaction. Mr.Andrew, laughing, signalled for another pint.

Jonathan brought the fresh pint, and Tom filled for himself, drank, andsaid emphatically, and with a confounding voice:

'Your women have been setting you on me, sir!'

Andrew protested that he was entirely mistaken.

'You're the puppet of your women!'

'Well, Tom, not in this instance. Here's to the bachelors, and brotherTom at their head!'

It seemed to be Andrew's object to help his companion to carry a certainquantity of Port, as if he knew a virtue it had to subdue him, and tohave fixed on a particular measure that he should hold before headdressed him specially. Arrived at this, he said:

'Look here, Tom. I know your ways. I shouldn't have bothered you here;I never have before; but we couldn't very well talk it over in businesshours; and besides you're never at the Brewery till Monday, and thematter's rather urgent.'

'Why don't you speak like that in Parliament?' the old man interposed.

'Well, Harriet would have taken to you, Tom, and will now, if you 'll lether. Of course, it 's a pity if she 's ashamed of--hem! You found itout about the Lymport people, Tom, and, you've kept the secret andrespected her feelings, and I thank you for it. Women are odd in thosethings, you know. She mustn't imagine I 've heard a whisper. I believeit would kill her.'

The old gentleman shook silently.

'Do you want me to travel over the kingdom, hawking her for the daughterof a marquis?'

'Now, don't joke, Tom. I'm serious. Are you not a Radical at heart?Why do you make such a set against the poor women? What do we springfrom?'

'I take off my hat, Nan, when I see a cobbler's stall.'

'And I, Tom, don't care a rush who knows it. Homo--something; but wenever had much schooling. We 've thriven, and should help those we can.We've got on in the world . . .'

'Wife come back from Lymport?' sneered Tom.

Andrew hurriedly, and with some confusion, explained that she had notbeen able to go, on account of the child.

'Account of the child!' his brother repeated, working his chincontemptuously. 'Sisters gone?'

'They're stopping with us,' said Andrew, reddening.

'So the tailor was left to the kites and the crows. Ah! hum!' and Tomchuckled.

'You're angry with me, Tom, for coming here,' said Andrew. 'I see whatit is. Thought how it would be! You're offended, old Tom.'

'Come where you like,' returned Tom, 'the place is open. It's a foolthat hopes for peace anywhere. They sent a woman here to wait on me,this day month.'

'That's a shame!' said Mr. Andrew, propitiatingly. 'Well, never mind,Tom: the women are sometimes in the way.--Evan went down to bury hisfather. He's there now. You wouldn't see him when he was at theBrewery, Tom. He's--upon my honour! he's a good young fellow.'

Mr. Andrew drew a letter from his pocket, pursuing: 'Just throw asideyour prejudices, and read this. It's a letter I had from him thismorning. But first I must tell you how the case stands.'

'Know more than you can tell me, Nan,' said Tom, turning over the flavourof a gulp of his wine.

'Well, then, just let me repeat it. He has been capitally educated; hehas always been used to good society: well, we mustn't sneer at it: goodsociety's better than bad, you'll allow. He has refined tastes: well,you wouldn't like to live among crossing-sweepers, Tom. He 's clever andaccomplished, can speak and write in three languages: I wish I had hisabilities. He has good manners: well, Tom, you know you like them aswell as anybody. And now--but read for yourself.'

'Yah!' went old Tom. 'The women have been playing the fool with himsince he was a baby. I read his rigmarole? No.'

Mr. Andrew shrugged his shoulders, and opened the letter, saying: 'Well,listen'; and then he coughed, and rapidly skimmed the introductory part.'Excuses himself for addressing me formally--poor boy! Circumstanceshave altered his position towards the world found his father's affairs ina bad state: only chance of paying off father's debts to undertakemanagement of business, and bind himself to so much a year. But there,Tom, if you won't read it, you miss the poor young fellow's character.He says that he has forgotten his station: fancied he was superior totrade, but hates debt; and will not allow anybody to throw dirt at hisfather's name, while he can work to clear it; and will sacrifice hispride. Come, Tom, that's manly, isn't it? I call it touching, poorlad!'

Manly it may have been, but the touching part of it was a feature missedin Mr. Andrew's hands. At any rate, it did not appear favourably toimpress Tom, whose chin had gathered its ominous puckers, as he inquired:

'What's the trade? he don't say.'

Andrew added, with a wave of the hand: 'Out of a sort of feeling for hissisters--I like him for it. Now what I want to ask you, Tom, is, whetherwe can't assist him in some way! Why couldn't we take him into ouroffice, and fix him there, eh? If he works well--we're both getting old,and my brats are chicks--we might, by-and-by, give him a share.'

'Make a brewer of him? Ha! there'd be another mighty sacrifice for hispride!'

'Come, come, Tom,' said Andrew, 'he's my wife's brother, and I'm yours;and--there, you know what women are. They like to preserve appearances:we ought to consider them.'

'Preserve appearances!' echoed Tom: 'ha! who'll do that for them betterthan a tailor?'

Andrew was an impatient little man, fitter for a kind action than toplead a cause. Jeering jarred on him; and from the moment his brotherbegan it, he was of small service to Evan. He flung back against thepartition of the compound, rattling it to the disturbance of many a quietdigestion.

'Tom,' he cried, 'I believe you're a screw!'

'Never said I wasn't,' rejoined Tom, as he finished his glass. 'I 'm abachelor, and a person--you're married, and an object. I won't have thetailor's family at my coat-tails.'

Do you mean to say, Tom, you don't like the young fellow? The Countesssays he's half engaged to an heiress; and he has a chance of appointments--of course, nothing may come of them. But do you mean to say, you don'tlike him for what he has done?'

'And you that swear at people pretending to be above their station!'exclaimed Andrew. 'I shall get in a passion. I can't stand this.Here, waiter! what have I to pay?'

'Go,' cried the time-honoured guest of the Aurora to Jonathan advancing.

Andrew pressed the very roots of his hair back from his red forehead,and sat upright and resolute, glancing at Tom. And now ensued a curiousscene of family blood. For no sooner did elderly Tom observe thisbantam-like demeanour of his brother, than he ruffled his featherslikewise, and looked down on him, agitating his wig over a prodigiousfrown. Whereof came the following sharp colloquy; Andrew beginning:

I 'll pay off the debts out of my own pocket.'

'You can make a greater fool of yourself, then?'

'He shan't be a tailor!'

'He shan't be a brewer!'

'I say he shall live like a gentleman!'

'I say he shall squat like a Turk!'

Bang went Andrew's hand on the table: 'I 've pledged my word, mind!'

Tom made a counter demonstration: 'And I'll have my way!'

'Hang it! I can be as eccentric as you,' said Andrew.

'And I as much a donkey as you, if I try hard,' said Tom.

Something of the cobbler's stall followed this; till waxing furious, Tomsung out to Jonathan, hovering around them in watchful timidity, 'MorePort!' and the words immediately fell oily on the wrath of the brothers;both commenced wiping their heads with their handkerchiefs the faces ofboth emerged and met, with a half-laugh: and, severally determined tokeep to what they had spoken, there was a tacit accord between them todrop the subject.

Like sunshine after smart rain, the Port shone on these brothers. Like avoice from the pastures after the bellowing of the thunder, Andrew'svoice asked: 'Got rid of that twinge of the gout, Tom? Did you rub inthat ointment?' while Tom replied: 'Ay. How about that rheumatism ofyours? Have you tried that Indy oil?' receiving a like assurance.

The remainder of the Port ebbed in meditation and chance remarks. Thebit of storm had done them both good; and Tom especially--the cynical,carping, grim old gentleman--was much improved by the nearer resemblanceof his manner to Andrew's.

Behind this unaffected fraternal concord, however, the fact that theywere pledged to a race in eccentricity, was present. They had beenrivals before; and anterior to the date of his marriage, Andrew had doneodd eclipsing things. But Andrew required prompting to it; he requiredto be put upon his mettle. Whereas, it was more nature with Tom: natureand the absence of a wife, gave him advantages over Andrew. Besides, hehad his character to maintain. He had said the word: and the firstvanity of your born eccentric is, that he shall be taken for infallible.

Presently Andrew ducked his head to mark the evening clouds flushing overthe court-yard of the Aurora.

'Time to be off, Tom,' he said: 'wife at home.'

'Ah!' Tom answered. 'Well, I haven't got to go to bed so early.'

'What an old rogue you are, Tom!' Andrew pushed his elbows forward onthe table amiably. 'Gad, we haven't drunk wine together since--by George!we'll have another pint.'

'Many as you like,' said Tom.

Over the succeeding pint, Andrew, in whose veins the Port was merry,favoured his brother with an imitation of Major Strike, and indicated hisdislike to that officer. Tom informed him that Major Strike wasspeculating.

'The ass eats at my table, and treats me with contempt.'

'Just tell him that you're putting by the bones for him. He 'll want'em.'

Then Andrew with another glance at the clouds, now violet on a grey sky,said he must really be off. Upon which Tom observed: 'Don't come hereagain.'

'You old rascal, Tom !' cried Andrew, swinging over the table: 'it'squite jolly for us to be hob-a-nobbing together once more. 'Gad!--no, wewon't though! I promised--Harriet. Eh? What say, Tom?'

'Nother pint, Nan?'

Tom shook his head in a roguishly-cosy, irresistible way. Andrew, from ashake of denial and resolve, fell into the same; and there sat the twobrothers--a jolly picture.

The hour was ten, when Andrew Cogglesby, comforted by Tom's remark, thathe, Tom, had a wig, and that he, Andrew, would have a wigging, left theAurora; and he left it singing a song. Tom Cogglesby still sat at histable, holding before him Evan's letter, of which he had got possession;and knocking it round and round with a stroke of the forefinger, to thetune of, 'Tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor, 'pothecary, ploughboy, thief';each profession being sounded as a corner presented itself to the pointof his nail. After indulging in this species of incantation for somelength of time, Tom Cogglesby read the letter from beginning to end, andcalled peremptorily for pen, ink, and paper.

CHAPTER IX

THE COUNTESS IN LOW SOCIETY

By dint of stratagems worthy of a Court intrigue, the Countess de Saldarcontrived to traverse the streets of Lymport, and enter the house whereshe was born, unsuspected and unseen, under cover of a profusion of laceand veil and mantilla, which only her heroic resolve to keep her beautieshidden from the profane townspeople could have rendered endurable beneaththe fervid summer sun. Dress in a foreign style she must, as without itshe lost that sense of superiority, which was the only comfort to her inher tribulations. The period of her arrival was ten days subsequent tothe burial of her father. She had come in the coach, like any commonmortal, and the coachman, upon her request, had put her down at theGovernor's house, and the guard had knocked at the door, and the servanthad informed her that General Hucklebridge was not the governor ofLymport, nor did Admiral Combleman then reside in the town; whichtidings, the coach then being out of sight, it did not disconcert theCountess to hear; and she reached her mother, having, at least, cut offcommunication with the object of conveyance.

The Countess kissed her mother, kissed Mrs. Fiske, and asked sharply forEvan. Mrs. Fiske let her know that Evan was in the house.

'Where?' inquired the Countess. 'I have news of the utmost importancefor him. I must see him.'

'Where is he, aunt?' said Mrs. Fiske. 'In the shop, I think; I wonderhe did not see you passing, Louisa.'

The Countess went bolt down into a chair.

'Go to him, Jane,' said Mrs. Mel. 'Tell him Louisa is here, and don'treturn.'

Mrs. Fiske departed, and the Countess smiled.

'Thank you, Mama! you know I never could bear that odious, vulgar littlewoman. Oh, the heat! You talk of Portugal! And, oh! poor dear Papa!what I have suffered!'

Flapping her laces for air, and wiping her eyes for sorrow, the Countesspoured a flood of sympathy into her mother's ears and then said:

'But you have made a great mistake, Mama, in allowing Evan to put hisfoot into that place. He--beloved of an heiress! Why, if an enemyshould hear of it, it would ruin him--positively blast him--for ever.And that she loves him I have proof positive. Yes; with all herfrankness, the little thing cannot conceal that from me now. She loveshim! And I desire you to guess, Mama, whether rivals will not abound?And what enemy so much to be dreaded as a rival? And what revelation soawful as that he has stood in a--in a--boutique?'

Mrs. Mel maintained her usual attitude for listening. It had occurred toher that it might do no good to tell the grand lady, her daughter;of Evan's resolution, so she simply said, 'It is discipline for him,' andleft her to speak a private word with the youth.

Timidly the Countess inspected the furniture of the apartment, takingchills at the dingy articles she saw, in the midst of her heat. That sheshould have sprung from this! The thought was painful; still she couldforgive Providence so much. But should it ever be known she had sprungfrom this! Alas! she felt she never could pardon such a dire betrayal.She had come in good spirits, but the mention of Evan's backsliding hadtroubled her extremely, and though she did not say to herself, What wasthe benefit resulting from her father's dying, if Evan would be so base-minded? she thought the thing indefinitely, and was forming the words onher mouth, One Harrington in a shop is equal to all! when Evan appearedalone.

'Why, goodness gracious! where's your moustache?' cried the Countess.

'Gone the way of hair!' said Evan, coldly stooping to her forehead.

'Such a distinction!' the Countess continued, reproachfully. 'Why, monDieu! one could hardly tell you; as you look now, from the verycommonest tradesman--if you were not rather handsome and something of afigure. It's a disguise, Evan--do you know that?'

The Countess immediately took his arm, and walked with him to a window.His face was certainly changed. Murmuring that the air of Lymport wasbad for him, and that he must leave it instantly, she bade him sit andattend to what she was about to say.

While you have been here, degenerating, Evan, day by day--as you alwaysdo out of my sight--degenerating! no less a word!--I have been slaving inyour interests. Yes; I have forced the Jocelyns socially to acknowledgeus. I have not slept; I have eaten bare morsels. Do abstinence andvigils clear the wits? I know not! but indeed they have enabled me todo more in a week than would suffice for a lifetime. Hark to me. I havediscovered Rose's secret. Si! It is so! Rose loves you. You blush;you blush like a girl. She loves you, and you have let yourself be seenin a shop! Contrast me the two things. Oh! in verity, dreadful as itis, one could almost laugh. But the moment I lose sight of you, myinstructions vanish as quickly as that hair on your superior lip, whichtook such time to perfect. Alas! you must grow it again immediately.Use any perfumer's contrivance. Rowland! I have great faith in Rowland.Without him, I believe, there would have been many bald women committingsuicide! You remember the bottle I gave to the Count de Villa Flor?"Countess," he said to me, "you have saved this egg-shell from a crack byhelping to cover it"--for so he called his head--the top, you know, wasbeginning to shine like an egg. And I do fear me he would have done it.Ah! you do not conceive what the dread of baldness is! To a woman death--death is preferable to baldness! Baldness is death! And a wig--a wig! Oh, horror! total extinction is better than to rise again in awig! But you are young, and play with hair. But I was saying, I went tosee the Jocelyns. I was introduced to Sir Franks and his lady and thewealthy grandmother. And I have an invitation for you, Evan--youunmannered boy, that you do not bow! A gentle incline forward of theshoulders, and the eyes fixed softly, your upper lids droopingtriflingly, as if you thanked with gentle sincerity, but wereindifferent. Well, well, if you will not! An invitation for you tospend part of the autumn at Beckley Court, the ancestral domain, wherethere will be company the nobles of the land! Consider that. You say itwas bold in me to face them after that horrible man committed us on boardthe vessel? A Harrington is anything but a coward. I did go and becauseI am devoted to your interests. That very morning, I saw announced inthe paper, just beneath poor Andrew's hand, as he held it up at thebreakfasttable, reading it, I saw among the deaths, Sir AbrahamHarrington, of Torquay, Baronet, of quinsy! Twice that good man has cometo my rescue! Oh! I welcomed him as a piece of Providence! I turned andsaid to Harriet, "I see they have put poor Papa in the paper." Harrietwas staggered. I took the paper from Andrew, and pointed it to her. Shehas no readiness. She has had no foreign training. She could notcomprehend, and Andrew stood on tiptoe, and peeped. He has a bad cough,and coughed himself black in the face. I attribute it to excessive badmanners and his cold feelings. He left the room. I reproached Harriet.But, oh! the singularity of the excellent fortune of such an event atsuch a time! It showed that our Harrington-luck had not forsaken us.I hurried to the Jocelyns instantly. Of course, it cleared away anysuspicions aroused in them by that horrible man on board the vessel.And the tears I wept for Sir Abraham, Evan, in verity they were tears ofdeep and sincere gratitude! What is your mouth knitting the corners at?Are you laughing?'

Evan hastily composed his visage to the melancholy that was nocounterfeit in him just then.

'Yes,' continued the Countess, easily reassured, 'I shall ever feel adebt to Sir Abraham Harrington, of Torquay. I dare say we are related tohim. At least he has done us more service than many a rich and titledrelative. No one supposes he would acknowledge poor Papa. I can forgivehim that, Evan!' The Countess pointed out her finger with mournful andimpressive majesty, 'As we look down on that monkey, people of rank andconsideration in society look on what poor dear Papa was.'

This was partly true, for Jacko sat on a chair, in his favouriteattitude, copied accurately from the workmen of the establishment attheir labour with needle and thread. Growing cognizant of the infamy ofhis posture, the Countess begged Evan to drive him out of her sight, andtook a sniff at her smelling-bottle.

She went on: 'Now, dear Van, you would hear of your sweet Rose?'

'Not a word!' Evan hastily answered.

'Why, what does this indicate? Whims! Then you do love?'

'I tell you, Louisa, I don't want to hear a word of any of them,' saidEvan, with an angry gleam in his eyes. 'They are nothing to me, nor I tothem. I--my walk in life is not theirs.'

'Thank heaven, I shall have the consolation of not going about, andbowing and smirking like an impostor!' Evan exclaimed.

There was a wider intelligence in the Countess's arrested gaze than shechose to fashion into speech.

'I knew,' she said, 'I knew how the air of this horrible Lymport wouldact on you. But while I live, Evan, you shall not sink in the sludge.You, with all the pains I have lavished on you! and with your presence!--for you have a presence, so rare among young men in this England! You,who have been to a Court, and interchanged bows with duchesses, and Iknow not what besides--nay, I do not accuse you; but if you had not beena mere boy, and an English boy-poor Eugenia herself confessed to me thatyou had a look--a tender cleaving of the underlids--that made her catchher hand to her heart sometimes: it reminded her so acutely of falseBelmarafa. Could you have had a greater compliment than that? You shallnot stop here another day!'

'True,' said Evan, 'for I'm going to London to-night.'

'Not to London,' the Countess returned, with a conquering glance, 'but toBeckley Court-and with me.'

'To London, Louisa, with Mr. Goren.'

Again the Countess eyed him largely; but took, as it were, a side-pathfrom her broad thought, saying: 'Yes, fortunes are made in London, if youwould they should be rapid.'

She meditated. At that moment Dandy knocked at the door, and calledoutside: 'Please, master, Mr. Goren says there's a gentleman in the shop-wants to see you.'

'Very well,' replied Evan, moving. He was swung violently round.

The Countess had clutched him by the arm. A fearful expression was onher face.

'Whither do you go?' she said.

'To the shop, Louisa.'

Too late to arrest the villanous word, she pulled at him. 'Are you quiteinsane? Consent to be seen by a gentleman there? What has come to you?You must be lunatic! Are we all to be utterly ruined--disgraced?'

'Is my mother to starve?' said Evan.

'Absurd rejoinder! No! You should have sold everything here beforethis. She can live with Harriet--she--once out of this horrible element--she would not show it. But, Evan, you are getting away from me: youare not going?--speak!'

'I am going,' said Evan.

The Countess clung to him, exclaiming: 'Never, while I have the power todetain you!' but as he was firm and strong, she had recourse to herwoman's aids, and burst into a storm of sobs on his shoulder--a scene ofwhich Mrs. Mel was, for some seconds, a composed spectator.

'What 's the matter now?' said Mrs. Mel.

Evan impatiently explained the case. Mrs. Mel desired her daughter toavoid being ridiculous, and making two fools in her family; and at thesame time that she told Evan there was no occasion for him to go,contrived, with a look, to make the advice a command. He, in that stateof mind when one takes bitter delight in doing an abhorred duty, washardly willing to be submissive; but the despair of the Countess reducedhim, and for her sake he consented to forego the sacrifice of his pridewhich was now his sad, sole pleasure. Feeling him linger, the Countessrelaxed her grasp. Hers were tears that dried as soon as they had servedtheir end; and, to give him the full benefit of his conduct, she said:'I knew Evan would be persuaded by me.'

Evan pitifully pressed her hand, and sighed.

'Tea is on the table down-stairs,' said Mrs. Mel. 'I have cookedsomething for you, Louisa. Do you sleep here to-night?'